THE RELUCTANT PHILANTHROPIST

GOLLAPUDI                            SRINIVASA RAO

It wasn’t that easy coming to the USA as it is now. One hardly found time to relax and think. Studying and doing part-time jobs consumed most of the time. And then, looking around for a permanent job and earning as many dollars as was possible sucked up all energy. Marriage and children and the attention that their upbringing demanded… It was hard to find spare time to think of anything else.

Of late, Rakesh was forced to apply his mind to things he most disliked. Many were going back to India with noble aims. They talked about things that appeared strange to him. A handful of NRIs were flying back with a motto: “Do something for your country”. But, it really didn’t make much sense. More so, when a few among these vowed to dedicate their lives at the service of the people with the underlying motif to earn a name for themselves in politics. “Oh, this is the reason why these fellows pine for their homeland. One can actually coin money in the pretext of public service. In the USA one earns for what one does. But politicians in India earn without doing anything,” Rakesh consoled himself.

Back to his old village in India somehow didn’t appeal to Rakesh. The same old problems and the same old people. Unhappy and uncivilised.

It was strange that many NRIs were shuttling between India and America more than ever. Some even longed to send their children back home to make them conversant with their mother tongues and Indian culture, conspicuously absent in American society. They feared their children might lose their identities or would find it difficult to adjust to Indian ways in the days to come if ever the need so arises. It all appeared stupid to Rakesh.

Back at office, his colleagues Rajeshwar, Dikshit and Revan Reddy had just returned from their holidays they had spent in India. When they chatted endlessly about their experiences in their native villages they had gone to visit after so many years, Rakesh was all ears for the language they were talking in and their curious pronunciations. Of course, he didn’t fail to observe a new iridescence in their faces.

The new slogan of the NRIs in the USA “Do something for your motherland” having struck a secret chord in Rajeshwar he went back to his village and donated a sum of 1 lakh to the local school. It lay forsaken in a secluded corner of the village starved of funds and infrastructure. The authorities appealed for money from well-wishers and the alumni to stall further decline. The whole village gathered to garland him and they held a big meeting showering praise and respect on him. Village elders exhorted the people to follow Rajeshwar’s lead. Local newspapers and reporters from the electronic media eulogised his generosity. It was all unexpected and gave great sense of pride to Rajeshwar.

Dikshit too did something that made his villagers proud. He donated Rs 2 lakh for the purpose of building a temple in his village. Cutting across distinctions of caste, villagers assembled to celebrate the grand inaugural function. Their love and respect, Dikshit thought, would get him elected as the next village sarpanch without the slightest possibility of any opposition. It was ofcourse, a silly idea! His parents would like him to continue with his overseas job rather than idling away his precious time in dirty politics.

Revan Reddy did something exceptional. He went back to his village and entered into an agreement with the local MLA. His village didn’t a hospital all these years and the people had to travel eight kilometers for any medical aid they were in need of. During his childhood days, he heard people die of snakebite midway through their way to the nearest hospital. So, he told the local MLA he would get a building raised with his money and asked him to use his good offices to get doctors posted. The district collector who came to learn of Reddy’s benevolent gesture extended his helping hand. He threw his weight behind the project and it took shape in no time. Thankful villagers raised Reddy to the level of a messiah. It was their long-pending dream to have a hospital built in their village.

While his friends went on talking endlessly about India and her problems Rakesh remained silent. He felt bad for he had nothing to talk about. He disliked the very idea of going back to India.

If affluent NRIs winged back to join politics and earn money and prestige and applause Rakesh remained nonchalant. But, can one dismiss the philanthropic feats of the likes of Rajeshwar, Dikshit and Revan Reddy? True, they are immersed in wealth and luxury but are willing to share some of these with their countrymen. “I am the one who’s lagging hopelessly behind,” Rakesh told himself.
Frankly, it wasn’t at all that difficult. A thousand dollars is a lot of money in India. In fact, in Silicon Valley people don’t ear dollars they mint them.
Rakesh thought of doing something; something noble and different. Unlike his colleagues, he wasn’t thinking of schools or hospitals. He wished to do something that earned him more name and fame. He applied his mind thoroughly and consulted a number of people. Old age homes were rather popular in the USA , but in India the concept was still in a nascent stage. What if one undertakes to build an old age home back in his native village? The idea appeared very good.
For a man with a pocketful of dollars, implementing an idea is not all that difficult. A rich man has more friends and servants at his command. Soon, he engaged them to complete the project awaiting all that thrill his colleagues experienced. He had come to India with great excitement. His agents made very good arrangements for the inauguration of the home for the aged. The ceremonial showering of praises and garlanding over, Rakesh was to distribute clothes to the aged.
When the person at the far end turned up to take his share, Rakesh’s eyes fell on his trembling hands. He looked straight at him. His hands supported him from tumbling. His eyes lit up.
His heart ached. For the very first time in his life he started feeling helpless and thoughts of old age, frailty and loneliness seized him.

Ends/
Published in The Statesman on 11.11.2007